I’m settling into San Francisco life well enough, and it’s very different in so many ways. We are right in the city, and it couldn’t be more of a change from Wilmslow: it’s noisy, you can’t go to the supermarket without passing a few homeless people, and there are tourists everywhere. Clearly, I don’t class myself as a tourist – I’m a resident! The homeless are quite disturbing; they are literally everywhere. It’s rare to go past a bus shelter without the now-familiar heap of blankets, sundry bags, shopping trolley and often a run-down bike. They pop up in some strange places as well, sometimes simply on the pavement – literally as if they were walking along one minute and then the next just lay down and went to sleep. Maybe they did; a lot of them are clearly ruined by drugs, and these are often distinguished by talking to themselves animatedly. You have to ignore it; I don’t have any other plan.
From a lifestyle viewpoint, SF has a lot to offer.
There is lots to do, cultural or otherwise, and people-watching takes on a whole new perspective. The mix is unbelievable. There are leftovers from the 70s in various states, most of it not good. Some have worn pretty well but others look like they have had a lifetime of self-abuse. Probably because they have. Then there are those who aren’t from the 70s but look like they are – or should have been. They are distinguishable by looking less raddled, but things like long hair, moustaches and – yes, flared trousers - are fairly common. As you come back towards the present there is just plain weird. Middle-aged bloke going to work on one of those kids scooters, or a skateboard? Doesn’t even get a glance. Device that looks like a cross-trainer but moves like a bike? Sure, why not? I saw someone yesterday, not sure what but probably a female, dressed in denim hotpants and wearing a facemask. He/She had legs like the Williams sisters but a face like Frank Bruno. I nearly fell off my bike but nobody else took any notice. I guess I’ll get used to it.
The language presents a few challenges, and I find myself struggling to explain some concepts that we have such a good UK phrase for. Try explaining “putting somebody’s nose out of joint” – this is something I’m doing a bit too much of. Mobile phones become cells, shop becomes store, crisps are chips, chips are fries, “please could I have…” becomes “can I get….”. Those are easy, but don’t even think about encouraging someone by telling them to “keep your pecker up” – you’ll be in jail very, very quickly.
And sport. Loads. Every weekend there’s an event along the Embarcadero. A couple of weeks ago it was the SF marathon, Sunday was a 12K fun run which was something to do with saving the environment. I live within 5 minutes of a special bay area marked out permanently by buoys for open-water swimming. I’ve got no excuse now, I’m going to have to do it! I went past the other day, and there were dozens of triathletes there. I stopped to chat and they were all really friendly and helpful so maybe I’ll overcome my irrational fear of open water. After all, the bay is only a nursery for sharks, hardly any big ones at all. My house overlooks Alcatraz; it doesn’t seem that far. Entry ballot for “Escape from Alcatraz” triathlon is 1st September.
The weather is generally good, so no more slogs down the bypass for me in the dark and the rain. My regular run route is a glorious mix of seafront terrain: some sand, some pavement, some grass. Seagulls and sea air, so if I close my eyes I am back in my home town of Blackpool. If I open them I am treated to views of many, many beautiful girls. I smile at them but they ignore me, lost in their iphone world. Hey ho!
